


Fulcrum is the Dip

by sootnose



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2014-06-21
Packaged: 2018-02-05 14:11:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1821304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sootnose/pseuds/sootnose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Right to the point, sweet laughing sex", as a friend aptly put it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fulcrum is the Dip

**Author's Note:**

> It's been closer to a year since I last wrote anything and I didn't really put all that much thought into this -- just fell into a zone and typed down what came to mind -- so the writing isn't exactly miraculous. Might amuse someone though. :D

Fulcrum’s lips quivered in a soundless moan. Misfire bucked into the K-con, an incessant stream of babble running from his vocaliser.  
The blue-white minibot straddled in Fulcrum’s lap ground his spike into the K-con’s valve in a less jarring pace than the jet, the two spikes sliding against each other in the tight hug of Fulcrum’s valve calipers.

Tailgate was nuzzling Fulcrum’s neck, minute traces of electricity dragging between the neck cables and the smooth surface of his face mask. One of his hands was on Fulcrum’s spike, more holding than anything, soft leisurely drag of digits and the occasional flick of a thumb over the slit on the tip.

Misfire would have liked to have his hands free to dip into inviting gaps in Fulcrum’s armor, but at least one arm had to always be occupied with propping up the three of them. If they had thought this through they would have done this with Misfire’s back against a wall, but all of them were hard pressed to call in a break to move over now.

So Misfire leaned his weight on one arm and dragged the free hand over the back of one of Fulcrum’s hands, slipped his digits between Fulcrum’s and joined in kneading Tailgate’s thigh. He moved on, flicked the tire on the white thigh, ghosted over to Fulcrum’s hip. The K-con moved in tight circles over the two spikes, more instinctive than anything. Misfire slipped his hand between the two mechs in his lap, pulled the other ‘con flush to his chest and with the advantage of more control of their movement, bucked hard into Fulcrum. The K-con leaned back on the jet, his helm falling back, optics offline, a high keen escaping his vocaliser.  
Misfire giggled against Fulcrum’s back, mouthed gaps in plating and flicked his glossa over biolights. Fulcrum’s plating shifted minutely, a new gush of hot air vented out against Misfire’s face. The jet let out another giggle and bucked into Fulcrum, cutting off the answering snicker from the other side of the K-con.

Tailgate buried his face into Fulcrum’s chest plating, reaching past the K-con, sliding his digits between Misfire’s plating and into the sensitive hip joints. The jet’s plating was incredibly compact, and took a lot of shifting to give access to much sensitive wiring, but Tailgate had small hands. He ghosted over wiring, pinched some, earning a few erratic bucks and a sloppy slap from Fulcrum against Misfire’s thigh - the jet was still constricting Fulcrum’s midsection.

Tailgate snickered and doubled his efforts, moving against Fulcrum. Fulcrum let out a staticky moan at the sweet friction in his valve and his now otherwise neglected spike between himself and the minibot.

Misfire’s field crackled with the first flutters of overload, and when Tailgate tweaked an especially sensitive bundle of hip wiring, the jet tumbled over, a hot flush of transfluid spilling out of Fulcrum’s valve and dripping onto Misfire’s thighs. An errant trickle down the underside of Tailgate’s spike had the minibot giving a tiny shiver and suppressing a giggle.

Misfire slumped back. Tailgate let out an undignified squeak as the two on top of the jet lost their support and Fulcrum tipped back against Misfire’s chestplates, pulling the minibot along.

Fulcrum shivered at the sudden feel of emptiness when Misfire’s spike slid out from his valve. Fulcrum and Tailgate’s optics met, and an astonished smile flashed across Fulcrum’s faceplate before he covered his mouth with a hand. Misfire onlined his optics and lolled his head towards the shaking K-con. All he could see was the back of Fulcrum’s helm and his trembling shoulders. He poked Fulcrum’s shoulder kibble feebly, then upon hearing Tailgate’s snicker realised that the K-con was _laughing_.

"Okay", Tailgate whispered, pulled out of Fulcrum and slid down the K-con’s body. Fulcrum paused and looked after him curiously. The minibot wrapped his hand around Fulcrum’s spike and nuzzled his faceplate to it softly. The K-con let the back of his helm fall against Misfire’s shoulder with a thunk, a half-hearted repayment for tipping them over.

Misfire craned his neck to peek over Fulcrum’s chest, then started jostling the other two with his squirming.  
“You can’t do that!” Misfire spluttered with bright optics. Tailgate lifted his faceplate to look at Misfire and tilted his head.  
"Why?"  
Fulcrum groaned. Fragging jet.  
Misfire scrambled for purchase, then pulled himself backwards until he could sit up with Fulcrum’s upper body across his lap.

"Okay! Go on!" Misfire exclaimed. Fulcrum thumped his helm against Misfire’s abdominal plating this time.  
“I hate you.”  
“I love you too, loser!” Misfire chirped. Fulcrum groaned again and slung an arm across his face, but quieted with the soft nuzzling against his spike.


End file.
